


in pursuit and in possession

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, oh my
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They shift in bed, still just bodies. Still just men in most of the ways that matter. Elias is angry until he is not, Peter is reticent until he is not, and all of this ends with Elias on Peter’s lap, finger poking into his chest, hard, accusing, a promise.“I am going to put a knife right here,” he says. “I am going to kill you.”And because they have sloughed off most pretenses, at this point - Peter’s hands coming up to Elias’s hips, his open mouth to Elias’s throat - Peter just sighs.“Alright,” he says. “If you like.”
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	in pursuit and in possession

**Author's Note:**

> title is shakespeare's sonnet 129 because... i like to hurt my own feelings?

At the end of the day, Peter is a thief. 

They shift in bed, still just bodies. Still just men in most of the ways that matter. Elias is angry until he is not, Peter is reticent until he is not, and all of this ends with Elias on Peter’s lap, finger poking into his chest, hard, accusing, a promise. 

“I am going to put a knife right here,” he says. “I am going to kill you.”  
And because they have sloughed off most pretenses, at this point - Peter’s hands coming up to Elias’s hips, his open mouth to Elias’s throat - Peter just sighs. 

“Alright,” he says. “If you like.”

Peter is an acquirer of various habits. Not staying for breakfast, early-riser, folding back the sheets and leaving. Anticipated behavior. Elias’s feet out from under the covers, and him not sleeping, never sleeping, awake and silently watching Peter dress from where he's buried himself in bed. Peter refuses to scrutinize any of it closely. 

Eyes closed, eyes open, lights on, lights off. He wakes up one morning and the sky has turned inside-out, rain coming down in sheets, slamming against the windows. Because they  _ are _ still men in most ways that count, and Peter does still need to eat, occasionally, to live, he gives up against it. Elias is not-sleeping, pretending to sleep, sleeping, open-mouthed and cocooned in the duvet like a child. 

With some humor, Peter makes a dent in Elias’s sorry non-perishables. Purchased to live in a cupboard forever: coffee, oatmeal made with water, sugar, clumped up, hard in its box, he cooks them in Elias’s immaculate, useless kitchen. Rattles around in the drawers for utensils while the storm tires itself out. Curses when he burns his hand on the stovetop.

Then Elias, in the doorway; face unreadable, puffy with sleep. 

They fuck. Elias is something furious and wounding. He scratches Peter so hard he starts to bleed and screws his face up when he comes, twisting himself away so suddenly that Peter is forced to let him go. Peter finds himself wondering if he’d misunderstood something. Finds himself not quite present enough to figure out  _ what _ . Elias has turned away from him to face the wall, whispering under his breath; something with the cadence of a litany or a prayer. Peter cannot hear it. 

Then: “You should go,” he says, very loud, now, and clear. 

Peter, folding back the sheets and leaving, thinking of oatmeal and hard clumps of sugar. The bright-hot pain of Elias biting down on his earlobe. The rattle of the windows in their frames. 


End file.
